Page 23 of Forced Bratva Bride

We carry on chatting, and again, I find myself watching how my husband interacts with everyone. He looks up, perhaps feeling my eyes on him, and grins. Without even thinking, I grin back, his smile infecting me, his bright blue eyes captivating me.

Then I look away, trying to push those thoughts aside. He's not really my husband. He's just a part of this arranged marriage we were both forced into. He doesn’t love me. This is a business transaction, and I need to remember that before I fall for his blue-eyed, beautiful, expressive face and get really hurt in the process.

There is nothing between us, and I need to keep myself in check.

“Food is ready,” one of his brothers shouts.

“Coming, Kiril,” Amelia calls back.

“Come on. Let’s go eat. These cocktails are going straight to my head, and if I don’t get some food in me soon, I'm going to be getting up to no good.” She winks at me, and I grin, feeling like I've made a real friend amid all of this weirdness.

We each take a seat and the men start carrying the barbecued meat over to the table. A chef arrives and places a gorgeous salad on the table as well, and someone pops a bottle of champagne.

The kids are swarming around their own mini table, which is laid out beautifully, just like this one, but filled with burgers and pizza and chips instead of salads and meats.

“We let them eat there so they can make as much mess as they want. Otherwise, you end up with grubby fingers all over your plate,” Amelia smiles.

Maxim sits down next to me and holds my champagne glass out to his brother, who pours some for me.

His hand brushes across my thigh, and when I glance at him, he pretends not to notice.

So, I decide to ignore it, even though my body is suddenly alive and charged beneath his touch.

He dishes up some salad for me and asks me which piece of meat I prefer.

I grin. I know what meat I want.

I shake my head. I can’t believe I'm letting my thoughts slip like that.

“A lamb chop, thanks,” I quickly reply. But I can see by his face that he caught my grin, and didn’t miss the joke that was not said out loud.

The birthday celebration is actually a really lovely event, and I find I'm enjoying myself chatting to everyone at the table, not even minding Maxim’s hand on my leg.

But I am still tense inside, nervous about this marriage.

I don’t know what my future holds, and what he will expect of me as a wife.

Chapter 9 - Maxim

After my niece’s birthday party, I thought that Chiara and I had a little breakthrough. She seemed more comfortable with me in front of my family, and even interacted with me a little, but I was wrong. As soon as we get home that night, she's right back to being her normal, distant, cold self. She goes straight to her room, and I'm left alone for the night again.

I don’t know what to do, and I'm getting nowhere in this investigation into her family. So I decide to take matters into my own hands.

I pick up my phone, standing up from my desk and pacing my office as I speak.

“Angelo, how are you? It’s Maxim.”

“Maxim, what a nice surprise to hear from you. I’m great. How are things there with you two?”

“Things are wonderful. Tell me, what are you up to today? I thought I could stop by and have some lunch with you or meet you somewhere. Just wanted to say hello, really. Some time without the girls to chat.”

“You are welcome here any time. Come over. The chef is busy cooking up a storm, I'll let him know to expect an extra person.”

“Amazing. I'll see you in a bit, then.”

I decide not to let Chiara know where I'm going, and when I find her in the kitchen, I play it safe. “I'm headed out to a lunch meeting. Will you be okay alone here for a bit?”

“Yes, of course,” she nods, flicking the coffee machine on.

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